


gooood morning vietnam

by sarcastic_fangirl



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, also lowkey dave crushin on john, lowkey gore, there are knights fighting so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-22 01:20:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10686846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcastic_fangirl/pseuds/sarcastic_fangirl
Summary: You, Dave Strider, a 16 year old boy whose favorite pastimes include making ridiculous plans with friends and finding out how much apple juice a human can ingest before passing out, have never seen war.  At least, you had thought so.  All those fights with your Bro didn't count as real battles, did they?  Sure they sucked, and you've developed certain aversions and inconveniences because of them, but you can't say you deserved to be treated like a survivor.  Everyone goes through it.  Don't they?





	gooood morning vietnam

**Author's Note:**

> haven't read a fic where dave displays any symptoms of his somewhat canon disorders, so here. warning for those with anxiety, ptsd, depression, and or problems with mild gore.

It had happened during first period:  World History, of all classes.  The one you had least expected.

Thankfully you share that class with John, so you figured it could never get that bad.

It did.

 

The morning had been thoroughly normal.  You had escaped your apartment before Dirk made a fuss about something, and you had gotten to school at a decent time.  Your friends had greeted you, and you laughed and joked about random shit.  Nothing out of the ordinary.  It was going to be a good day.

Soon the bell was ringing, telling you to get your ass to class.  You had trudged upstairs with John, complaining about being too out of shape for that shit the whole way.  As soon as you had stepped into the classroom, you noticed the projector had been brought out and the screen was down.  Movie day.  Awww yeah.

This was probably by far your favorite class.  Maybe it had something to do with your hella chill teacher.  Or maybe it was because this was the one class you had with John, and that he sat directly behind you.  Who knows.

In all honesty, you had expected Music Theory to be the best, but it isn't anywhere near as lit as you had built it up to be.  You're just thankful you weren't in AP like John was.  He was always complaining about how it ruins music for him.  Math sucked, because (surprise) you aren't bad at math, so you were placed in a high level course.  Chemistry sucked.  Spanish sucked.  Basically, everything sucked but World History.

Okay, you have to admit to yourself that you love all history in general, completely unironically.  You find it pretty fascinating how people got by without things like the internet, or pizza rolls.  What amazes you even more is how exactly people came up with the shit they did in their respective time periods.  It's almost like an escape for you.  Since you were little, time fascinated you.  Everything from dinosaurs to space travel had you hooked.  You had always thought that maybe if you spent enough time in the past, reality would be a little more tolerable.  It was as if somehow, time would bend its rules just for you, allowing you to dissolve into something you had never known as opposed to the ass-backwards life you desperately wanted to be rid of.

Whatever the reason, you're glad to be here right now.  Time could have plopped you in any era it wanted, and yet it decided you belonged with some other lame teenagers you're lucky to call your best friends.  For that, you were grateful.  Not that you let it show.  Striders are supposed to keep their emotions in check at all times.  Besides, it was supposed to be a good day and (if you were lucky) you might have been able to do something stupid with your squad after school.

As you and John took your seats, you had immediately turned around to face him.  You guys have a routine.  How ever much time you guys have before class is spent talking to each other.  When class starts, you continue making comments in your group chat unless you guys get too invested in the lesson.  For the most part, you're able to whisper over your shoulder or give him a quick look whenever something funny comes up.  It was a good system, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

"How much you wanna bet we're watching 3000?" you said, idly watching as the rest of the class trickled in.

"No way, are we even allowed to?" John had looked pretty puzzled, and you have to admit it was kind of cute.  His eyebrows drew together, making his blue, blue eyes crinkle with such innocent confusion.  His soft lips were parted slightly as he stared at you, just enough so that you could see his buck teeth poking out.  His hair had been all messy, as it normally is.  You have quite the best bro if you do say so yourself.

"If Doc Scratch says so, we can."

John had just shrugged and didn't say anything else.  Instead, he started messing around on his phone.  You couldn't help but notice the way his tongue had poked out between his lips as he concentrated on reading something.

"Ten bucks says it's gonna be a sex scene from Game of Thrones."

"Ew, shut up.  Only YOU are into that kinky dragon shit."

"Rose is into it too."

"Yeah, because you guys are weird."

"So we got a bet or what?"

"Oh you're so on."

Before you could reply with something about how the odds were totally in your favor, your teacher had called out for your class's attention.  Unlike the other history teachers at the school, who are all cranky and intimidating, Doc Scratch is a chill older dude.  He wasn't like, great-grandfather old.  You swear you remember him saying he was in his late thirties, but you guess his shaved head gives him a more mature vibe.  You also swear that his real name isn't Scratch.  People have been calling him that for so long that it feels like any other name is wrong.  You know that this is because of a strange tic that causes him to scratch at his hands every now and then.  At first you found it almost uncomfortable to call your teacher a name that basically made fun of his disorder.  Then you learned that your teacher had given himself that nickname.  That's when you officially decided that he was chill.

You faced forward as he had started to take attendance, smirking slightly to yourself as John stammered out a delayed "h-here!" when his name had been called.  It was obvious he had been focusing too much on his phone.

"Pay attention, star student," you had murmured to him over your shoulder.  That had earned you a whack to the back of your head as he muttered something about shutting the fuck up.  It had almost made you smile.

You had been prepared when Doc Scratch called your name out, giving him a smooth "sup" as you raised your hand lazily.  Eventually, your teacher finished roll call and then got up.  He stood at the front of the class, getting right into it.  You guys were going to watch some documentary about the Middle Ages.  Fuck yeah, this was your DAY.  Knights and princesses were totally your thing.  Even if you leaned more towards princes.

As Scratch had gotten busy setting up the movie, your phone buzzed.  It was a message from John.

-dave, you own me ten bucks. :B-

You had rolled your eyes and glanced behind you where John was grinning like he had just won the lottery.  You wouldn't care if it weren't for his damn cute smile.  You subtly shook your head and sent a text of your own.

-sorry spent every last cent on three special items from target-

-guess what they were and the moolas all yours baby-

You heard him whine behind you, but soon your phone buzzed again.

-lotion, tissues, and the newest lady gaga album???-

Shit.  He knew you too well.

-it was actually madonnas like a virgin but close enough-

You reached into your pocket and flicked a ten dollar bill back at John.  Striders always keep their word.  Even if that word is total bullshit, y'all find a way to deliver.  You heard John snicker, and you swear you had heard him say, "Thanks, material girl."  You were just about to fire back with something about him being a twink ass McConaugh-bitch, but Doc Scratch had called for everyone to settle down.  The movie was starting.

The opening scene had been a montage of old paintings and artifacts while the narrator droned on about something you weren't really paying attention to.  It wasn't exciting yet, and you made sure John knew that.

This was just your thing.  Whenever there was a movie in class, you made sure to comment about nearly everything.  You even did so on your sacred movie nights with the squad.  They've grown to tolerate it.  You've even had some great debates about mundane shit, like whether or not a movie trope was too cliché for the plot.

The movie had been giving you way too much material than you could handle.  Damn right you were a Material Girl.  You were blowing up John's phone about everything from the weird medieval art to the narrator's voice.  You could hear him trying to hold in his laughter behind you.

You let up though when it had gotten into stuff about the hierarchy within a kingdom.  It wasn't like you didn't know that stuff already, but you always liked to pay attention just 'cause.  You leaned forward, propping your elbow up on the desk and resting your cheek in your hand.  The scene that had been playing focused on a guy dressed as a king, lounging on his throne.  It then changed to the king and queen walking around what the narrator had said was their "royal garden."  Big deal.

Next had been the knights.

You fucking love knights.  You have their codes of chivalry practically memorized.  In the movies and reenactments you've seen (which mainly consists of Game of Thrones) they had all the respect and swagger in the world.  Back when you were younger, you liked that they carried around swords and all sorts of weapons all the time.  It made you feel better about the fact that you were forced to do the same because of Bro.  Now that you're older it makes you uneasy, but you still respect the idols that had once made your life a little bit easier.  Besides, knights were cool as fuck.  Nothing ironic there.

As the narrator dude talked about how knights used to live, the shot had changed to what looked like a duel.  Here, two knights had faced each other, armed with swords.  You hadn't really liked the resemblance it had to previous... events from your past, but hey, there'd always be a reminder every now and then.

The narrator had explained how knights had used duels to settle arguments.  You had scoffed at the sheer irony of the parallels between the knights and your life.  Then they began to fight.

Damn, since when had your classroom gotten surround-sound speakers?  Because every single clash of metal had hit your eardrums hard.  You had tensed, not moving from the position you'd been in.  You hadn't wanted it to look like you were scared.  Being scared is for pansies, and you, David Elizabeth Strider, are most certainly not a fucking pansy.

This of course hadn't helped you in any way.  Luckily the narrator had swooped in to save you with some commentary about the whole thing, which drowned out the sounds of metal.

"And yet as noble as the champions fight, there is always a victor and his slain counterpart."

Well shit.

As soon as the narrator had finished his sentence, one of the knights made a wrong move.  You had seen it coming, but you weren't exactly able to warn him.  So you had been forced to watch as his sword slipped from a parry, allowing his opponent's sword to cut deep into his arm.  Dark red blood oozed from the gash, and you swear your heart had almost stopped.  You tensed.  Actually, you already were tense.  For sure now though, any part of your body that had been relaxed was clenched from... well, you didn't know.  You just knew that all of a sudden you couldn't move.

You had wanted to turn your head away as the wounded knight was speared right through his stomach.  You had wanted to close your eyes, but the best you had been able to do was to avert your gaze to an electrical outlet just below the projector screen.  At the same time, you had felt like curling up and going to sleep.  Well, maybe not sleep.  Too many nightmares.  You had just wanted to be anywhere but in that classroom, and preferably not conscious either.

And since when had special effects gotten so realistic?  If you hadn't known any better, you would have for sure thought that poor actor was done for.

You heard the knight drop dead, the thud and rustling of his armor crumpling to the ground loud and clear over the cheers from the crowd that had been watching the whole brutal ordeal.

It was the exact same sound as when Bro struck you down during a match.  All of it was.  From the actual weapons down to the clashes of metal on metal, it stayed with you.

You couldn't shake it no matter how hard you tried.

As you had stared at the electrical outlet, your mind had seemed to wander.  You had been physically there in the classroom, yes.  You had been aware that your teacher had paused the movie and was allowing time for the usual break.  You had heard John make a comment about the graphics.  But at the same time, none of it had really registered to you.

So you had sat there and stared.

You hadn't moved a muscle.  It had almost been a state of catatonia, save for the occasional blink.  The side of your face had been pressed tight against your arm.  You had still been hunched over, and your legs were planted firmly on the ground.  That hadn't even been the worst of it.

It seemed as if the world had glazed over.  You had started to remember every encounter with Bro.  You could still hear the ringing of metal in your ears, and your Bro's loud, rough voice.  You could see yourself crying at night.  You've been cut like that knight before, just not as bad.  Suddenly, you could see the many scars that criss-crossed over your arms.  You could see the times you had given yourself some of those scars, just to see if it would feel any different than it did during a fight.  Just to see if people would be able to tell the difference between battle scars and battered scars.

Suddenly you saw the knight.  Except it wasn't the actor who was impaled.  It was you.

You.

You were dead.

You had slipped up in a strife and you were dead, and you doubted anybody would miss you.

It could've been you.

You swear you had stopped breathing.

Your chest had been tight, but you weren't choking.  It had been then that you knew this wasn't a panic attack.  You'd had those before.  The first thing that had came into your mind was  _help. i need help. i dont know what the fuck is going on i need to mo-_

Except you still couldn't move, and your voice felt nonexistent.  By this time you had realized that a significant amount of class time had gone by during your predicament.  The movie was over, and there had still been enough time to discuss what you had watched.  So that was what the class had been doing.

John had stopped trying to get your attention.  You were lucky he sat behind you.  There was no way in hell you had wanted him to see you like this, no matter how much help you needed.  It just wasn't like you.  It wasn't like a Strider.

You were glad you had your shades on.  You had probably looked like you were asleep.

You had used the time the class spent talking about the movie to mentally psych yourself for body movement and speech.  Little by little, you had forced your eyes to flit around the edges of the outlet to the empty space of the wall around it.  Soon, you saw the teacher's desk.  But that had been all you were capable of.

Before you could get any farther, class had been dismissed.  By this time you had resigned yourself to the fact that something was really wrong, and you were going to be forced to let your teacher or John confront you and get help.  Everything you had ever been taught was going batshit crazy in your head, telling you to get the fuck over it and deal with it yourself.  What kind of Strider were you?  What kind of  _man_ were you?   _Pansy-ass girl, that's whatcha are._ You had heard Bro's voice so clear in your mind.   _Never fuckin' forget that David_ Elizabeth.   _Striders don't need help.  Striders don't cry.  Now put up your metal, and don't fuck it up this time._  Damn it, you thought you had gotten over this.  You were over it, you were over it, you were-

"Dave?" John's voice had just sounded curious at first.  Of course he had thought you had fallen asleep.  What else could have explained your motionless, speechless state?  Besides, he had no reason to suspect that anything had been wrong.

You had heard him move past you, and suddenly he was on the other side of the row of desks, leaning down to look at you.

"Daaaaave!  C'mon assface, it's time to- Dave?" His voice had become more frantic as he noticed that you were actually awake.  You had guessed he could see your eyes from his point of view, and with the light there was no more hiding.

You had wanted to get up and say that you were joking.   _just another war flashback bro,_ is what you would tell him,  _'nam was a bitch.  still adjustin' to civilian life is all._  You had wanted to ask for help.  Even more so, you had desperately wanted to tell him that you were okay. Your body and your mind just hadn't allowed it.

You had felt something slip down your cheeks, and that was when you realized you had been crying.

"Dave no, oh Dave, shh..." John was crouched down now, his voice soft and filled worry.  By now he for sure knew something was wrong.  He had been right in front of you and yet, you weren't focused on him.  Your eyes had still been trained on that damn outlet, tears rolling down your cheeks like rain.  You still hadn't made a single noise.

"Shhh don't cry Dave, it's okay Dave, you'll be okay.."  You heard the strain in his voice, and then it cracked.  Fuck, now he was crying too.  It had taken everything in you to focus on his face, and you wanted to fucking sock yourself in the eye when you saw him.  His sweet blue eyes had been all watery and so damn worried as tears spilled onto his flushed cheeks.  You had wanted to scream that you were fine.  You had wanted to hug him and reassure him that it was nothing, you had just gotten too carried away with your imagination.  You had wanted to comfort him so badly, and erase all the worry, confusion, and hurt you had put there.

But you couldn't.

"It's okay Dave, I'm gonna get Dr. Scratch," he had assured you, springing up and leaving your sight as he went to your teacher.  A few seconds later, you saw John's jeans again and your teacher's black pleated slacks crouching down to you. 

Doc Scratch's voice had been low and calm as he had spoken to you.  "Dave, do you mind telling me what happened?"

You hadn't answered Scratch.  Not like you could anyway.  Your voice had still been utterly and completely fucked up.  You heard him mutter a quick question to John, to which he replied, "Yeah, he does."  You had a sneaking suspicion it was about mental illness.

"Okay Dave.  We are going to clear the classroom.  No one else will be in here except for you and me.  I am going to call someone to come help."

Again, you couldn't answer, not even a fucking nod.  Your tears had kept coming and your nose was getting equally wet, but you couldn't do anything about it.  That's when your leg had started shaking.  You figured you were so tense that your body had to let the tension out in some way.  You had been hoping you'd be able to get up soon.

"Dave, I have to go to my next class okay?  Scratch is going to help you."  John wiped his eyes as he said that, sniffling and struggling to keep his voice steady.  "It's going to be okay, Dave."  And with that, he had left.


End file.
